


the truth about falling

by alaseux



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, OT5, Raven!Andrew, Raven!Neil, Slow Burn, The Perfect Court (All For The Game), but!!!!, essentially they all love neil a whole lot, everyone is happy and nothing hurts, it makes sense when u read it i promise, okay no there is some angst whoops, this is just soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-03-25 09:06:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13830957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alaseux/pseuds/alaseux
Summary: “I’m Nathaniel. Wesninski,” he added, because Andrew shouldn't know him yet. Nathaniel had been careful to keep out of the press. “And this is Kevin Day. We’re here to recruit you for the Edgar Allan Ravens.”(in which Nathaniel is a Raven, and Andrew is his apathetic goalie of choice)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so here it is......... the perfect court au i've been talking about writing for Forever. it's gonna be a long one, folks
> 
> here's a playlist for the fic: https://open.spotify.com/user/ashtothewind/playlist/0270ocIX86lOOWF2Ytfmrl?si=Zw4yHK2MRAas09ZqERmwDw  
> here's some beautiful art made by the loml kt (it's stunning i'm crying??): https://hi-raethia.tumblr.com/post/179474382404/no-nate-jean-said-wishing-he-had-words-for

Nathaniel was sprawled across the backseat of the Aston Martin, a sleepy tangle of spindly limbs and fiery hair. His legs were thrown over Jean’s lap, and the light from the streetlamps outside passed over him, one by one by one. His suit was probably wrinkling, but he didn’t care. He could always just buy a new one.

Kevin was driving through the dark, tapping his fingers against the console in time to the acid rap that was blasting through the speakers. The three of them were discussing the reason why they’d embarked on this thirty-eight hour journey: Andrew Minyard, a blond goalie with a dead twin brother and a bad attitude.

Minyard was Nathaniel’s recruit. Nathaniel had found him, Nathaniel had convinced Tetsuji that he was a good investment, Nathaniel would be the one left with significantly less unscarred skin if this didn’t work. He trusted his instincts, though. And his trusted his own wit in case the plan went south; he’d talked himself out of dozens of seemingly-impossible situations and he could do it again. Probably. 

The song came to a close, and next in line was something by Kanye West. Nathaniel sighed at the mundanity. “Aux cord,” he demanded, cutting off their conversation and holding out a hand.

“You’re annoying,” Kevin said, but he disconnected his phone and passed the cord back. Nathaniel pulled out his own phone and plugged it in.

Jean shoved his legs out of his lap. “We’re almost there,” he said, as Nathaniel’s music started to blare in the background.

“What’s the plan?” Nathaniel asked, stretching his arms above his head. He wanted to get this over with, so he could go to a hotel and take off his stupid suit. “I vote for Kevin not going.”

“Nate, be quiet,” Kevin said. “You and I will go—stop pouting, you’re the one who recruited Andrew, so of course you have to be there. I’m Riko’s second, so I’m going, too. And before you ask, no, you can’t see if Minyard can take a punch. Be civil.”

“Kevin,” Nathaniel whined, drawing out the word like a child. He  _ was _ a child, but only technically; he had only just graduated from high school, but he’d seen more suffering than most men would witness in their whole lives. “I have to make sure Minyard’s not a  _ wimp _ .”

Kevin opened his mouth to go off, but he had to pull into the driveway and turn off the engine, so he settled for saying, “Just behave.”

“Fine,” Nathaniel said, then turned to Jean. “Move, so I can get this over with.”

Jean opened the door, climbed out, and held out a hand to help Nathaniel, who stuck out his tongue and tumbled out on his own. “Brat,” Jean mumbled.

“Yeah,” Nathaniel agreed, and set off down the sidewalk in the dark, grabbing Kevin along the way. The house was small and grey, like all the others on the street, and it was surrounded by roses in full bloom. Illuminated by a few small lights, it was pretty, but plain.  _ Like Kevin,  _ Nathaniel thought with a snicker.

“Nate, seriously,” Kevin started, as if he could hear Nathaniel’s thoughts. His face was pale in the moonlight. “I know how you are. Be careful around this guy. He doesn’t know how this works, and he certainly doesn’t know how  _ we  _ work. Riko’s going to be a reckoning for him when he gets to the Nest.”

“I know,” Nathaniel said, face going serious. He pressed the doorbell. “Don’t worry, K.”

The door opened a moment later to reveal a tall, dark-haired woman. Her face was soft and kind, and she smiled brightly at them. “Hello, boys! I’m assuming you’re here for AJ?”

This was Cass Spear, if their information was correct. They had learned a little about Andrew in a few hours of research: he was given up by his mother at birth, and bounced from foster home to foster home, eventually finding the Spears. Six years ago, he’d been reunited with his twin brother, Aaron, only for Aaron to die a year later of an overdose. Then, six months after that, Andrew’s older foster brother, Drake, had been killed in the line of duty. The Spears had never officially adopted Andrew, so he still went by Minyard, and he had just finished his first year of college, which made him Jean’s age, a year older than Nathaniel and a year younger than Kevin and Riko.

“Hello, Mrs. Spear,” Kevin said, smiling back at her, radiating his typical famous-athlete charm. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“You must be Kevin Day!” she exclaimed, and Nathaniel resisted the urge to murder Kevin, shove him into the car, and dump his body in a river. He kept his mouth shut in case the threats found their way out in place of a greeting. 

“Yes, ma’am, and this is Nathaniel Wesninski. Could we talk to Min—Andrew?” Kevin covered his fault with a dazzling flash of his teeth, and Mrs. Spear practically swooned.

“Of course! I’ll go get him. We’ve been talking about your school a lot, lately,” she said, smiling once more and hurrying off.

Nathaniel elbowed Kevin after she left. “He’s probably already made his decision anyway. Let me do the talking, idiot.”

Kevin elbowed him back, scowling. “Then  _ talk _ . You were just standing there, looking like you want to murder someone. Sorry for making sure you didn’t scare her out of her mind.”

“I  _ do _ want to murder someone,” Nathaniel said. “It’s you. Shut up and let me deal with this, and I won’t slit your throat in your sleep tonight.”

Before Kevin could reply, Minyard appeared alone in the doorway, wearing black clothes and a bored look. He was shorter than Nathaniel, but he looked strong, like he spent most of his time in the weight room. His blond hair was damp against his forehead, and his hazel eyes were intelligent and cold.

“Are you Andrew?” Nathaniel asked, although he already knew the answer.

“Yes,” he replied. 

“I’m Nathaniel. Wesninski,” he added, because Andrew shouldn't know him yet. Nathaniel had been careful to keep out of the press. “And this is Kevin Day. We’re here to recruit you for the Edgar Allan Ravens.”

“Hmm,” Andrew said. “I’m enrolled here in UC Davis, if I remember correctly, so why are you recruiting?”

Nathaniel made a split-second decision. “Because I’m the best backliner in the country, and I’m the one who discovered you.”

Andrew’s eyes darkened. “Discovered me?”

“You’re a goalkeeper. You found Exy in juvie, joined your high school team when you got out, and after you graduated, you played for the UC Davis Mustangs in your freshman year of college.” Nathaniel flashed his teeth in a half-smile, half-threat. “I do my research, Minyard. I’ve been to your games, and I’ve watched your practices. You’re good. You could be amazing, if you actually worked for it.”

“What if I told you that I don’t want to be amazing,” Andrew said impassively, and it wasn’t a question.

“But what if  _ I _ told  _ you _ that your cousin, Nicky, could get into Edgar Allan too, and that both of you could go for free?” This was Nathaniel’s hand, and he was playing it early, but he knew that Nicky was Andrew’s pressure point. They’d only met a few years ago, but Andrew had fought off four homophobic attackers for him, and narrowly avoided being prescribed court-ruled medication because of Nicky’s testimony.

“I do not appreciate being spied on,” Andrew said. 

Nathaniel waited, letting the silence sit there for a moment.

“Would I have to get that tattoo?” This was acceptance, and Nathaniel resisted the grin that threatened the corners of his mouth.

“‘Do I deserve the tattoo? _ ’ _ is the question you should be asking.” Nathaniel let arrogance slip into his voice.“But yes, if you prove yourself, you will be number five of the Perfect Court.”

“And you’ll live with us in the Nest,” Kevin put in. 

“Nicky does not play Exy,” Andrew said, practically ignoring Kevin. “Not well, at least. What will he do at Edgar Allan?”

“We’ve arranged for him to go with a full-ride scholarship as a German major,” Nathaniel replied. “You won’t see him much, but he’ll be fine. And you won’t have a partner on the Ravens, but I assume you wouldn’t want one, anyway.”

Andrew tilted his head, looking bored. “Then… offer accepted, I suppose.”

“Good,” Nathaniel said, shoving his flicker of happiness down deep so he wouldn’t smile. “We’ll send you details later.”

And without saying goodbye, Nathaniel turned and headed back down the sidewalk, before he could say something he’d regret. Kevin followed suit, and they left Andrew Minyard, newest goalkeeper for the Edgar Allan Ravens, standing in the doorway.

Jean was leaned against the hood of the car, tapping away at his phone, and he looked up when they approached. “Well?” he said.

“Green light,” Nathaniel replied, smirking. “He didn’t even try to argue once I mentioned his cousin.”

“Was he good?” Jean asked Kevin, about Nathaniel. 

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. “I’m not a child. I don’t need to be looked after.”

“He wasn’t good,” Kevin said, pointedly ignoring Nathaniel’s protests, “but he wasn’t his normal bratty self, either. On the Nate scale, it was about a six.”

“I hate you,” Nathaniel said. “Also, I’m tired. Can we go now?”

“Cranky,” Kevin accused. “And you say you’re not a child.”

“Asshole,” Nathaniel threw back. “I’m not the one who made us drive all this way. Flying was clearly the better option, but  _ no _ , we had to spend three days together in a tiny Aston Martin that doesn’t even have a champagne bar in the back.”

“He’s definitely cranky,” Jean said.

“Fuck you,” Nathaniel said pleasantly, and got in the car.

Jean climbed in behind him a moment later, and and Nathaniel laid his head in Jean’s lap, attitude miraculously gone. “Where are we staying?” he asked, rubbing at his eyes. “If the sheets aren’t at least a thousand count, I’m going to off myself.” This was only half-sarcasm.

“You are so spoiled,” Kevin said, sliding in to the front seat, starting the car and pulling out onto the now-empty street. “Jean, you made him this way.”

“Don’t blame me for his petulance,” Jean said. “That’s all his own.”

Nathaniel flopped an arm towards Kevin in a sleepy gesture. “I miss Exy,” he said. “We haven’t played in”—he counted slowly on his fingers—”three days. That’s, like, a month in dog years.”

“What does that even mean?” Jean asked.

“It means he’s tired and he’s getting loopy,” Kevin said. “If he whines one more time, I am going to open the door and toss him out of this moving vehicle.”

“You would never,” Nathaniel said, but his voice got quiet, and his face fell a little. “You wouldn’t, right?” he mumbled, staring out the window.

Jean scowled at Kevin in the rearview mirror as he said, “No, Nate, we wouldn’t. Don’t worry, Kevin was just kidding.”

“Okay,” Nathaniel said. He fumbled for Jean’s hand in the dark, and when he found it, he closed his eyes and let out a soft, gentle sigh. 

They drove for about thirty minutes, until they reached Sacramento, and Kevin stopped the car in front of a tall, gleaming hotel. Jean shook Nathaniel’s shoulder to wake him.

Nathaniel’s hand shot out, grabbing Jean’s wrist with fingers pressed hard enough to bruise before his eyes even opened. Jean was used to this, and he sat there patiently until Nathaniel realized who he had attacked. 

“Are we here?” Nathaniel let go of Jean and rubbed blearily at his eyes. 

“Yes,” Kevin said. “I’ll go check in. You two get the luggage.” 

He got out of the car and tossed the keys to the valet, then disappeared inside the hotel. Jean climbed out and went to grab his and Kevin’s bags, and Nathaniel clutched his own to his chest, trailing after Jean. After handing the keys to the valet, the two of them went inside to stand beside Kevin at the front desk.

Nathaniel tugged a little at Kevin’s sleeve. “What room are me and Jean?”

“507,” Kevin replied, nodding his thanks to the clerk before heading for the elevators.

They crowded into one, standing awkwardly with a elderly couple before they arrived at their floor. Nathaniel was the first one off, and he walked in front of Kevin and Jean, knife concealed in his hand. Once, a year ago, there had been someone hired to kill Riko, and she had hidden in their hotel room, waiting. She’d gotten a good stab into Riko’s shoulder before Nathaniel had taken her down, eyes cold, obviously disappointed in himself, since he usually acted as a sort of bodyguard for the three of them. Now, every time they went to a hotel, Nathaniel led the way brandishing a blade.

After Nathaniel assessed both rooms for danger, Kevin bade Nathaniel and Jean good night, and vanished behind his hotel door. Jean and Nathaniel did the same, and Jean set their bags down on the little breakfast table.

“If Kevin makes me get up at five tomorrow morning to hit the weight room,” Nathaniel began, laying his knives on the bedside table and curling up on the left side of the bed because that was _his_ _spot_ , “I will eviscerate him.”

“Don’t do that,” Jean said automatically, but then processed what he said. “Actually, please do that. I am tired of his nagging.”

“He’s always so grumpy when we’re off the court for a while,” Nathaniel complained.

“So are you,” Jean pointed out. “Also, get out of that suit before you ruin it.”

“Always so eager to watch me take off my clothing,” Nathaniel said, and Jean threw a t-shirt and pajama pants at him in retaliation. 

He stripped quickly, trading stiff, itchy fabric for the soft cotton of his sleep clothes. Jean changed out of his own suit, then flicked off the lights. Nathaniel looked at Jean in the moonlight that flickered in through the curtains.

“Same shirt,” Nathaniel said. Apparently, he’d accidentally packed a Ravens shirt with “MOREAU 4” on the front instead of “WESNINSKI 3,” and now they were matching.

“You’ve stolen all of my hoodies, and now you’re moving on to my shirts,” Jean said, sliding into bed. “Who knew that pretty face hid a streak of kleptomania?”

“Jean thinks I’m  _ pretty _ ,” Nathaniel sang, slipping under the blankets. 

The backliner in question hummed by way of response, shifting under the covers to face Nathaniel, who stared back at him with big, blue, unblinking eyes. They laid there for a while in comfortable silence.

“You told me you got some sleep last night,” Jean said eventually, because nighttime was made for quiet truths. “When you had your own hotel room. That wasn’t true, was it?”

Nathaniel flinched. “I’m fine. It was just—nightmares.”

“You don’t have to sleep alone,  _ mon coeur _ . I would have come over. I know you sleep better when there’s one of us with you.”

Nathaniel was silent.

“What was it this time?” Jean pushed a little.

“The usual. My father. And Lola.”

“They cannot hurt you anymore, Nate. Riko and Kevin won’t let them. I won’t let them. You are safe with us.”

“Okay,” Nathaniel said hollowly. “I’m just… so tired of this.”

Jean turned on to his back and reached out, and Nathaniel accepted his touch, laying his head on Jean’s chest. “You are here, in Sacramento, with me,” Jean said. “Your father is a million miles away, and he cannot touch you. You are still breathing, your heart is still beating, and you are still very much alive. I will protect you.”

Nathaniel nodded, curling a small hand into Jean’s shirt. “I trust you,” he said.

Jean ran his fingers through Nathaniel’s hair. “Sleep,” he told him gently, and so they did.

 

\----

 

Sure enough, as soon as the clock struck five, there was a knock on the door. Nathaniel disentangled himself from Jean, groaning.

“If you kill Kevin, I’ll help you hide the body,” Jean muttered, turning over and going back to sleep.

Nathaniel opened the door to find Kevin dressed in workout clothes: joggers, an Edgar Allan Exy shirt, black and red specialty Ravens Nikes. He looked impatient.

“What fresh hell is this,” Nathaniel deadpanned. Kevin looked annoyed.

“Like you said last night,” he said. “We haven’t been on the court in three days. We have to keep in shape.”

Nathaniel went to change clothes, keeping his sleep shirt on and trading his pajama pants for a pair of tiny shorts just to annoy Kevin. “And yet, Jean is still sound asleep,” he said, pulling on Nikes that matched Kevin’s.

“He would cut off my head if I tried to get him up,” Kevin said. “You, on the other hand, are too short to hurt me.” It was a blatant lie, and they both knew it, but Nathaniel just punched Kevin in the arm and headed out the door.

The gym was on the second floor, and Nathaniel raced Kevin down the stairs, winning by a mile. He taunted Kevin during the whole workout for losing, and Kevin eventually responded by shoving him into the wall and kissing him silly for a good ten minutes. Luckily, the room was empty, and they emerged from the gym after a few hours, sweat plastering the hair to their foreheads.

Jean was in the bathroom, dressed, when Nathaniel let himself back in. 

“Ugh,” he moaned, collapsing on to the bed. “I don’t think Kevin was born with a soul.”

“Or he just doesn’t care about your wellbeing, and is trying to kill you,” Jean offered helpfully through the toothbrush in his mouth. 

Nathaniel rolled his shoulders back, wincing. “Both plausible explanations.”

“Oh, speak of the devil. He just texted me,” Jean said, picking up his phone. “We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

“Shit,” Nathaniel said, getting up and walking into the bathroom. “Move over, I need to take a shower before we go.”

Jean scowled at him, but obediently stepped out of the way, switching on the water before he went. Nathaniel stripped off his clothes and hopped in the shower, cursing when the cold water struck his back.

“Do you think Riko will be pleased about Minyard?” Nathaniel asked over the loud spray of the water. His voice was nonchalant, but the fact that he even asked showed his distress.

“Yes, of course,” Jean reassured him. Nathaniel had blood on his hands and violence in his veins, but he still craved approval and validation, and Jean had learned this over the years. “Riko and the Master are going to be proud of you.”

Nathaniel made a contented sound, and Jean felt a smile playing on his lips. 

A few minutes later, Nathaniel got out and wrapped a towel around his waist. Jean grabbed a dry washcloth that was sitting on the sink and dried off Nathaniel’s chest, and then they just stood there looking at each other, Jean’s hands on Nathaniel’s shoulders.

Nathaniel brushed his lips against Jean’s bare wrist. “Thank you,” he said softly. “For coming here with me. And for… everything else.”

“You know I would go anywhere with you, Nate,” Jean said, and it was the truth, and Nathaniel acknowledged this with a soft smile.

“I do know,” he said, stepping away from Jean and getting dressed. He decided to wear Jean’s sleep shirt out, partly because it would piss Kevin off, and partly because it still smelled like Jean. 

They packed their bags, looked over the room one last time to make sure they hadn’t left anything, and went to go get Kevin, who checked out of the hotel for them while Nathaniel and Jean waited in the car. It was about nine, and Nathaniel’s stomach had started to growl, so he convinced Kevin to stop by a smoothie place. They got back on the road, and started home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to clarify: this is Not a riko apologist fic. i just feel like if nathaniel had been with the perf court from the beginning, maybe they would all be a little softer!! please don't attack me it's just a thought that i decided to write about ajfdlsk  
> (also i changed the title of this fic like five times before finally settling on this one, so if u don't recognize the title, that's why!!)

The final half hour of the drive consisted of a fullblown argument between Nathaniel and Kevin over who would get to tell Riko about Andrew’s acceptance of their offer. Jean stayed annoyingly passive during the whole thing, much to Nathaniel’s dismay, and after Nathaniel decided that drastic action was the only option and reached into the front seat, grabbed the steering wheel, and swerved the car into a ditch, Kevin relented.

“Fine,” he said. “But you owe me.”

“Nope,” replied Nathaniel, laying on his back, head in Jean’s lap, with his heels propped up on the window. He flopped over onto his stomach to address Jean. “Do I owe him?”

Jean shook his head to signify his neutrality. “I’m not getting into your childish fights. Both of you will murder me in my sleep if I choose the other’s side, anyway.”

“True,” Nathaniel agreed, “but irrelevant. Who knows sixty-four ways to kill someone using a saltshaker and a pair of cufflinks? Not Kevin. He might murder you, but he certainly won’t be as creative.”

“Shut up,” Kevin said, glaring at him in the rearview mirror. “Your voice gives me a headache.”

“Yeah, well, every time I have to look at your stupid face I feel part of my soul die,” Nathaniel shot back.

Kevin scoffed. “What soul?”

Nathaniel let out a harsh laugh, and he moved to get up, clenching his hand into a fist, but Jean placed his own hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder and he laid down again, settling for a simple “fuck you, asshole” in response.

“Maybe later,” Kevin said.

“Is that a promise?” Now there was something electric running through the air, and Jean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Fighting was their weird version of foreplay, and it never failed to annoy him.

“Can’t this wait until we get home?” Jean cut in, running a hand through his hair. “You two exhaust me.”

Nathaniel poked him in the side with a smirk. “Don’t worry, you’ll get some too.”

“Hmm,” said Jean.

They pulled into Evermore’s parking lot, and Nathaniel looked smug as he opened the door and jumped out of the car. He grabbed his bag from the trunk and waited for them at the door, tapping his fingers impatiently against his thigh.

“God, you two are slow,” he complained. “Kevin, maybe if you put down the weights for a hot second and went on a run with me, your mile time wouldn’t be equivalent to a ten year old’s.”

Kevin scowled. “Maybe if you shut up for once, you wouldn’t be scarred within an inch of your life.”

Nathaniel’s eyes went horrifyingly dark for a split second, but the look was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by a blank stare that was almost as bad. Then he opened the door and vanished inside.

Jean could feel the simultaneous anger and horror radiating off Kevin in waves. They both knew he shouldn’t have made the comment about Nathaniel’s scars, but Kevin was too stubborn to take it back, and the damage had already been done anyway. He just gritted his teeth and followed Nathaniel inside, with Jean trailing close behind.

_ Walking into the Nest is like descending into hell _ , Nathaniel had said once,  _ because all the devils are here _ . The hallway that led down into the dorms was dark, but it was home, and the gloom was calming because it was familiar. 

Nathaniel disappeared into his and Jean’s room, closing the door behind him. Jean leaned against one of the couches in the common room, staring Kevin down.

“I know,” said Kevin, before Jean could say anything. “I know I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Jean agreed. “But you did, so now you have to do something about it.”

Kevin opened his mouth to reply, but Riko came into the room, and he shut it again.

“Kevin, Jean,” Riko said. “You’re back. Where’s Nathaniel?”

“His room,” Kevin replied, and when Riko moved to go see him, he added, “I wouldn’t… he’s upset.”

“What’d you do now, Kevin?” Riko stopped in his tracks, sighed, shook his head. “And don’t give me that innocent look. You know it’s always your fault. Jean, speak,” he commanded.

“They were arguing,” Jean started, “and Kevin got a little carried away. It was a tasteless comeback on Kevin’s side, Riko, but he didn’t mean anything by it.”

Riko rolled his eyes at Kevin. “What am I going to do with you two? Jean, go talk to him. Kevin, I’ll see you in my room to discuss the new recruit.”

“Yes, Riko,” said Jean. He headed for their dorm room and let himself in. Nathaniel was sitting on the edge of his bed, face hauntingly empty, staring at the wall as if it could show him how to feel again.

“Nate,” Jean started gently. “Are you all right?”

Nathaniel didn’t say anything, just nodded a little without taking his eyes off the wall. Jean sat down beside him, pressed their thighs together, and wrapped his arm around Nathaniel’s shoulders to pull him to his chest. Nathaniel was a tactile being, and Jean guessed that since all the touches he’d endured as a child had been violent, he took advantage of all the times he could hold on to the people he loved without fearing for his life.

Riko, Kevin, and Jean had never laid a vicious hand on Nathaniel, but his father and the master certainly had, and he bore the evidence of past injuries tattooed as silvery scars across his skin. There was the mark of an iron on his shoulder, two twin bullet marks resting side-by-side on his stomach (he shouldn’t have survived those, but Nathaniel loved to prove his father wrong any chance he got), and countless indications of knives that had been dragged through his flesh. He was a portrait of infinite brutality and survival.

“Do you agree with him?” Nathaniel asked, after a million moments of silence, and the tremor in his voice broke Jean’s heart. “That if I wasn’t so… antagonistic, I wouldn’t have all these scars?”

“Yes,” Jean said, and Nathaniel flinched. “But that is what makes you yourself, Nathaniel. You are loud and terrifying and tough, and you protect all of us so well, and your scars are part of who you are. We wouldn’t have you any other way."

“But Riko hasn’t even come to say hello,” Nathaniel said into Jean’s chest; he didn’t seem to hear Jean’s consolations. “I haven’t seen him in days and I know he knows we’re back because I heard his voice out there but he hasn’t even acknowledged me yet.”

Jean’s throat constricted, and guilt rose in him like the tide. “No, baby, no. We just told him you wanted to be by yourself for a little bit.”

“I thought he was going to be proud of me,” Nathaniel whispered. “He’s so sad and angry all the time… I just want him to make him proud. Sometimes he smiles when I do something good. I want him to smile like that all the time.”

“He does,” Jean insisted. “You make him so proud, baby. On the court and off.”

Nathaniel blinked up at him with questioning eyes. “Really?”

How could he not see how much they adored him? “Yes, really. Do you want to talk to him now?” 

He nodded, and Jean stood up to go get Riko, but he paused at the door first. “Riko’s proud of you, and so is Kevin, and so am I. Do not forget that.”

The corners of Nathaniel’s mouth curled up a bit in a watery smile, and Jean smiled back before letting himself out of the room. He quietly told Riko that Nathaniel wanted to see him, then went up to the court to find Kevin.

Half an hour later, Nathaniel came up too, bearing his racquet, smiling face devoid of the insecurity that had marred it earlier. Jean and Kevin were practicing, but Kevin stopped when he saw Nathaniel. He put down his racquet and walked over to Nathaniel, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, then said something that Jean couldn’t make out. Nathaniel nodded and grinned.

Jean rested the end of his racquet on the ground and called, “Nate, are you practicing with us?”

“Yes,” Nathaniel replied, bouncing over to Jean. He was never down for long. “Do I need gear, or…?”

Kevin and Jean didn’t have any on, so Jean shook his head, and Kevin came back over as Jean said, “We’re not doing anything strenuous. Official practice doesn’t start for a week, anyway.”

Eyes lighting up, Nathaniel leaned forward on his racquet. “Oh, speaking of official, Riko said that he talked to Andrew and he’ll be here in four days.”

“He’s a worthy recruit,” Kevin said, just to keep Nathaniel smiling. “You did well finding him.”

“I know,” Nathaniel said haughtily, then dissolved into laughter at his own attitude. “Come on, let’s practice.”

They were on the court for hours, losing track of time between the sounds of racquets swishing through the air and feet pounding against the floor. Nathaniel made Kevin’s job hard for him—backing him into corners with dark eyes and curved lips, then stealing the ball and vanishing towards the goal. Jean found himself laughing at their antics, and smirked whenever Kevin rolled his eyes at Nathaniel. They were incredibly intelligent—Nathaniel knew six languages, and was working on a seventh, as a result of being cooped up in Evermore for most of his teenage life, and Kevin’s obsession with history was infamous—and yet they managed to be so  _ stupid _ about each other. Jean doubted they would ever actually acknowledge whatever violently passionate thread that attached them, but that was fine, because it wasn’t like anyone else was going to come between them. And Jean got to pull Nathaniel close at night, and hold his hand, and protect him from the things that threatened the softness at Nathaniel’s core, which was all he ever needed to be whole.

Nathaniel appeared beside him, cocking his head, holding a goalie racquet. “Jean? You awake?”

Jean blinked a few times to blink the introspection from his eyes, and smiled down at Nathaniel. “Yes.”

“Good, because I’ve got a job for you,” Nathaniel said, smiling gently, grabbing Jean’s arm and hauling him over to the goal. “Play goalkeeper for a second? I want to see if I can outscore Kevin. I’ve been working on striker stuff lately.”

While Nathaniel was probably the best backliner in college Exy (even though he technically wasn’t even in college yet), his most notable talent was how interchangeable his skills were. He sometimes played as a striker or dealer in practice, and Riko allowed it, because Nathaniel got such a kick out of switching roles. Nathaniel would never play anything besides backliner in a real game, but in practice, he loved to show that he was better than most of his fellow Ravens in their own positions.

Jean nodded and exchanged his backliner racquet for the waiting goalkeeper one, then jerked his head at Kevin. “Don’t damage his ego too much. You and I both know it’s very fragile.”

“Definitely,” Nathaniel snorted, covering his mouth with his hand. He dropped it again once the laugher wore off, and squared his shoulders, setting his mouth into a focused line. “Okay, okay, watch this.”

Jean laughed at his confidence and stood in the goal, brandishing his racquet like a weapon. Nathaniel elbowed Kevin and said something, to which Kevin rolled his eyes but pulled over a giant bucket of balls. They started firing on Jean, and although Jean often played goalkeeper for these little showdowns, he was a backliner at heart and he wasn’t able to deflect many of their well-aimed shots. Their competition ended when three buckets were empty and Kevin stood triumphantly beside Nathaniel, who grinned through the sweat dripping down his forehead, hands on his knees.

Jean set his racquet down and came over in time to hear Nathaniel pant, “I’m gaining on you, K. You should look out.”

Kevin managed to scowl through the air he was sucking in like a drowning man. “You wish.”

“Considering the score was 65 to 55, he actually is,” Jean pointed out.

“Ha!” Nathaniel said, dropping his racquet on the floor to point a wobbly, accusatory finger in Kevin’s face. “At least Jean recognizes the talent before him.”

Kevin just scoffed, then glanced down at the fancy-looking athletic watch that rested on his wrist. Nathaniel had bought it for him last Christmas, using blood money that Kengo Moriyama had so graciously gifted him in exchange for killing a few rogue men. “We should go shower. Dinner’s in half an hour.”

Nathaniel set off towards the locker room on unsteady legs. Jean picked up Nathaniel’s stray racquet plus the two he’d been using during practice, and then he and Kevin followed Nathaniel towards the showers.

The automatic lights flicked on at the movement in the locker room, and Nathaniel collapsed onto the floor, pressing his cheek against the blissfully cold tile and closing his eyes. “Are we going out for dinner?” he mumbled when Jean and Kevin came through the door.

Kevin opened his locker and placed his racquet in it, and Jean did the same, then opened Nathaniel’s to put his away. He dropped the insignificant goalkeeper’s haphazardly on a bench. “If you want to,” Jean replied, sitting cross-legged beside Nathaniel. “You need to shower first, though, baby.”

Kevin leaned against the lockers and looked at the two of them resting on the ground. “We should hurry.”

“Calm down,” Jean said to Kevin, got to his feet, and tugged at Nathaniel’s arm until he stood too. “The faster you shower, the faster we can eat, Nate,” he added, and Nathaniel smiled and made his way to the showers, pulling off his clothes in the process and disappearing into one of the stalls that Riko had gotten installed after Nathaniel had broken down one night about his fierce hatred of the scars that decorated his skin. Kevin and Jean went into their own stalls, and turned on the water.

Jean came out a few minutes later, towel wrapped around his waist, to find Nathaniel fully dressed and sitting on a bench. He looked up at Jean’s presence and said, “I’m feeling like… Mexican food?”

“First of all, you’re always feeling like Mexican, and secondly, you only like it because you can show off and order in Spanish,” said Jean.

“Yeah,” Nathaniel agreed. “But you think my Spanish is hot. And my French, too. But we can keep pretending you don’t get off on my polyglotism, if you want.”

“Shut up,” Jean said. He refused to acknowledge the heat rising on his cheeks, and called, “Kevin, get out here and defend me.”

Kevin emerged a second later from the shower with his own towel slung low on his hips. “Nathaniel, you know what we’ve said about teasing Jean for his languages kink.”

“I do not have—I hate you two.”

Nathaniel hummed noncommittally and stood, pressing himself against Jean’s very bare body. He tugged a little at the towel, but it stayed in its place. Jean was both pleased and disappointed at its obedience. 

“It’s okay,” Nathaniel whispered conspiratorially. “Kevin likes it when I’m loud; you like it when I use anything other than English. Everyone’s got their  _ thing _ .”

“That’s the opposite of true,” Kevin sputtered from behind Jean. “I do not—you just—“

Nathaniel grinned wickedly and kissed Jean, long and hard, before letting go and sitting down again. He crossed his legs daintily and said, “Hurry up and put on some clothes so we can leave. I’m hungry.”

Jean and Kevin looked at each other, silently swearing to keep this entire interaction a secret, then got dressed and walked down to the Nest with Nathaniel in search of Riko. Nathaniel found him first, sitting on the desk chair in his room, going over the Raven rosters for the upcoming school year. He let himself in after motioning for Jean and Kevin to stay put, and sat down on Riko’s bed.

“Hey, Riko,” he began, swinging his feet in the air like a child. “It’s time for dinner.”

Riko just hummed, clearly distracted. Nathaniel frowned, rethinking his approach, then went to stand beside the desk. “Riko?”

The striker in question twitched at Nathaniel's voice and came back to life, setting the rosters down. “Hello, Nathaniel,” he said, and Nathaniel repressed the shiver that ran down his spine at the recognition.

“Hey, Riko,” he replied, with a small, private smile. “We’re going to dinner now, if that’s okay? Do you want to join us?”

“Yes,” Riko said, shuffling his papers into a neat pile and pushing them to the corner of his desk. He stood and looked down at Nathaniel through dark eyelashes. “Are you feeling better now?”

Nathaniel nodded. “I practiced a little with Kevin and Jean, and it helped. Just like you said it would.”

“Good.” Riko twisted his fingers into Nathaniel’s hoodie and pulled him in for a kiss. It was softer than usual, at least for Riko, and Nathaniel melted into it, wrapping his arms around Riko’s waist. A minute later Riko pulled back but didn’t let go of Nathaniel’s hoodie. “Dinner?”

“Yeah,” Nathaniel mumbled forlornly, suddenly feeling very empty at the loss of contact. 

“Let me guess,” Riko said, tugging Nathaniel to the door. “Mexican again.”

Nathaniel perked up at the mention of his favorite food. “I mean, if you don’t mind…”

They met Jean and Kevin in the common room on their way to the car, and per Nathaniel’s request, Kevin snagged the keys to the Bentley on the way out. It was Nathaniel’s favorite of all their cars, also bought with blood money, and Kevin taught him to drive on it when he turned fifteen. He was still terrible at driving, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the rush of speeding down empty backroads at ungodly hours with his boys, which was a common occurrence, especially in the summer.

They climbed into their usual places in the car: Kevin driving, Riko in the passenger seat, Jean and Nathaniel in the back. Nathaniel, like always, abandoned his seatbelt as soon as they pulled out of the parking lot, settling himself in Jean’s lap.

“Is that my hoodie?” Kevin asked, peering at Nathaniel in the rearview mirror.

“No,” said Nathaniel, threading his fingers idly through Jean’s hair.

Jean looked at the hoodie. “Nate, I don’t think you’d ever buy something with the word ‘Supreme’ on it.”

“You don’t know that,” Nathaniel said. “Maybe I wanna wear name brands sometimes.”

“It’s three sizes too big,” Kevin pointed out.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Nathaniel replied, face carefully blank. Jean choked, Kevin went red, and Riko rolled his eyes at their stupidity.

“Jesus  _ fuck _ ,” Jean snorted, resting his forehead on Nathaniel’s collarbone.

Kevin glared at Nathaniel in the mirror, and Nathaniel gazed back with innocent eyes. “Don’t crash,” he said helpfully.

Kevin opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again, curling his lip but remaining silent. Jean snickered, body contorting as he struggled to regain his composure. Nathaniel continued to play with Jean’s hair, the edges of his mouth flicking up in a tiny smile as they drove through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE NATHANIEL MY SASSY BOY also his love of mexican food is based off of my own obsession with it lmao  
> leave me a comment if u wanna!! they keep me motivated


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey hey i'm back,,, just finished exams so i'm gonna try and update more!! thank you all so much for the kind comments on the last chapter, they mean everything to me <3

The day on which Andrew was set to arrive began with an ear-shattering storm. Nathaniel hated weather like this; too many nights spent locked in his room in Baltimore, listening to the water pound in sheets against the roof, had grated his nerves into a live wire a long time ago. Storms made his father angrier, because rain meant he couldn’t get much work done, and therefore storms made Nathaniel terrified, because his father would unleash that anger on him. The first time it had really, truly stormed at Evermore, eleven-year-old Nathaniel had spent most of the day alone, trembling in a storage closet, hands over his ears to block the noise. Kevin found him there after he and Riko had looked for him for six hours. 

Although he’d gotten better at dealing with storms, Nathaniel still hated them, and today was no exception. It was four in the morning, Jean was asleep in his bed across the room, and Nathaniel was wide awake, staring out the window and trying to force air into his lungs.  _ He would be okay. He would not wake up Jean. This was going to be a good day and he wasn’t going to let a little rain ruin it _ .

The lightning flashed, the thunder crashed, and he flinched.

_ This is stupid _ , he thought to himself, clutching the blankets to his chest.  _ You’re eighteen. Just get over this. Storms can’t hurt you.  _

Jean stirred in his bed, and a little jolt went through Nathaniel. He couldn’t let Jean see him like this, he was tough, he was basically in college and he had  _ killed people  _ and yet he was scared of storms—

Silently, Nathaniel gathered his courage and his blankets and his knives and left the dorm.

Nathaniel was too tired to find a closet somewhere, so instead, he went to the only place he could remember actually  _ existed  _ in the midst of his exhaustion-induced haze: the court. The lights were off, and the sound of the rain was magnified on the roof, but there were no windows so somehow he felt safer. He spread the blankets out in the middle of the court, and laid down on them, breathing in the smell of the wood beneath him. The thunder cracked violently outside, but not being able to see it helped, and he fell asleep quickly, knives gripped in his hands.

Downstairs, when the thunder rumbled again, Jean sat bolt upright to find that Nathaniel was gone. He’d probably gone to a closet to sleep again; although he usually woke Jean when it stormed, sometimes Nate would take his blankets and locate a small space to curl up in until he either calmed down or fell asleep. Jean ran a hand through his hair, yawned, then climbed out of bed to go find him.

Nate wasn’t in Riko’s closet, and he wasn’t in Kevin’s bed, and he wasn’t in the small armchair in the common room, so Jean dragged himself sleepily up the stairs, silently debating the possibility of Nathaniel being in the locker room, because they’d found out a few weeks ago that Nathaniel could fit in one of the lockers. He might have been desperate enough to go there.

The stadium was dark, so Jean turned on his phone’s flashlight, running it distractedly over the court as he struggled to remember some less-used hiding places of Nathaniel’s. Lost in thought, he nearly tripped over the bundle of blankets on the floor, and bit back a yell as Nathaniel emerged from inside the pile, knives out and eyes blazing.

“It’s just me,” Jean said, automatically stepping back and putting up his hands to show he meant no harm. “I was coming to make sure you were okay, Nate.”

Nathaniel shrugged out of his blankets, setting the knives down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to _ — _ I’m fine.”

“It’s storming,” Jean said knowingly. “I’m sorry I didn’t wake up sooner to help you.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Nathaniel said, and he sounded frustrated with himself. “I should be able to handle a little fucking rain.” When Jean tried to reply, Nathaniel just shook his head. “Please don’t.”

Jean nodded. “Can I stay?”

“Not tonight,” Nathaniel said quietly, and there was a look in his eyes that made something in Jean ache.

“Okay,” said Jean. “I understand. I’ll be downstairs if you need me. Good night, Nate.”

The day dawned a few hours later, and the morning found Nathaniel still curled up in his nest of blankets on the floor, shivering. The storm was over, but he still felt the knives digging into his hands, and he relished the burn of them; his blood was impossibly red and he couldn’t stop staring at it, dripping down his palms and sliding onto his wrists. Even after everything he’d done, everyone he’d hurt or killed or worse, his blood still somehow ran red. 

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting here.

He should get up and go downstairs to get ready. Nathaniel remembered, distantly, that Andrew was going to arrive soon, and he knew he had to put on a good face for him, because Andrew didn’t know how unhinged Nathaniel could be sometimes and he wasn’t going to any time soon, if Nathaniel had a say in it. 

So Nathaniel, with the new driving goal of keeping his special brand of crazy contained and away from Andrew, got to his feet, mind mostly clear again. He reached to pick up the blankets, remembered his bloodied palms, and went to the locker room to clean up. He returned a minute later, hands clean and bandaged, and grabbed the blankets and knives, heading downstairs to get dressed. 

Walking down the hallway, Nathaniel noticed that Kevin’s door was closed. Nathaniel knew he should go back to his own dorm and let Kevin sleep, but Jean would ask too many questions about his well-being, and as much as Nathaniel cared for him, he didn’t want to talk to him right now. Decision made, he turned around, dropped the blankets on one of the common room couches, then walked back down the hall and let himself into Kevin’s room.

Kevin was asleep in his queen-sized bed, mouth parted, one arm thrown haphazardly over the mattress and the other resting across his bare chest. Nathaniel just watched him for a minute, noticing the way the rising sun glanced off his cheekbones like liquid gold, realizing that sleep made him look so much softer and gentler. He seemed nothing like the boy who periodically threw Nathaniel across the court and slammed him into walls during practice.

Nudging Kevin over, Nathaniel climbed into his bed, inching down under the covers. He poked Kevin’s shoulder once, twice, and waited. Kevin’s eyes eventually flickered open and rested on Nathaniel.

“Hey,” Kevin mumbled. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Needed company,” said Nathaniel, absently brushing a stray lock of hair away from Kevin’s face.

Kevin was suddenly wide awake. “Did something happen? Is Jean okay?”

“Nothing happened,” Nathaniel said. “Jean’s fine. Just—there was a storm last night, and I left, and Jean would probably make me talk about it if I went back to our room.”

“I can talk,” Kevin insisted. “If you need to talk, I’ll listen.”

Nathaniel realized he wasn’t getting his point across, so he pushed back the covers and climbed onto Kevin, straddling his waist and effectively shutting him up. “No talking,” he said, voice firm. 

Although Kevin looked concerned, he obeyed. He sat up, rested his back against the headboard, set his hands on Nathaniel’s waist, and began rubbing his thumbs in gentle circles over Nathaniel’s hips. Nathaniel leaned his forehead against Kevin’s collarbone, eyes closed, breathing in his familiar spicy, citrusy smell. 

“Excited for Andrew to get here, baby?” Kevin asked, a minute or maybe hours later. 

Nathaniel didn’t open his eyes, just pressed a light kiss to Kevin’s throat and nodded into his shoulder.

The sun grew brighter outside, and they stayed right there, pressed chest-to-chest in a dorm room a floor beneath an Exy court. Nathaniel became aware of his legs falling asleep, so he shifted his weight, sitting up to look at Kevin.

“Kiss me,” he said.

Kevin adjusted his grip on Nathaniel, pulled him closer, and kissed him hard, sinking his teeth into Nathaniel’s bottom lip. (Kevin could be so impossibly gentle when he was touching Nathaniel, but kissing was another matter; he didn’t know how to do it softly, Nathaniel had learned.) Pushing his hands into Kevin’s hair, Nathaniel’s back arched when Kevin nipped at his jaw. Kevin sensed that Nathaniel wasn’t going to last long there, and he rolled them over so he was pressing Nathaniel into the mattress with grounding hands. The room around them faded to a blur, and the bottom dropped out of the world, and then there was only this: appreciative noises bitten into mouths and greedy fingers roaming over bare skin. And then Kevin rolled his hips down against Nathaniel’s and suddenly Nathaniel couldn’t form coherent thoughts anymore.

 

\----

 

Andrew Minyard was only ten minutes away from Edgar Allan University when he finally realized the thing that was making his fingers tap against the steering wheel was nerves. He knew that being anxious about packing up your entire life and leaving your home state was perfectly normal, but he still hated the feeling, so he turned up the radio to try and drown out his unease.

Against Cass’s advice to fly or at least take a practical car, Andrew had driven his GS almost three thousand miles across the country, and he was honest enough to admit to himself that he might be feeling a little cranky from sleeping in the backseat every night instead of stopping at a hotel. 

Bass pounding, Andrew drove into the parking lot of the Evermore stadium and pulled into an empty space. He sat there for a second, refusing to turn off the engine or the music, momentarily wondering if this might really be as bad an idea as he’d previously thought. Then he saw Jean Moreau watching him from the door of the stadium, so he turned the key and the GS went still and quiet. 

He stared at the tattooed Roman numeral 4 on Jean’s face for a moment longer than he should have.

Then he unclipped his seatbelt, opened the door, and climbed out. Leaving his luggage in the car, he walked up to Jean and said, “Are you Jean Moreau?” as if he hadn’t done hours of research on the people he was about to play Exy with for the rest of his college career.

Jean nodded, looking bored, but Andrew glimpsed something in his eyes, resting quietly behind the apathy on the surface, that gleamed of hard-earned pride. “Nathaniel, Kevin, and Riko are downstairs,” Jean said, with the barest hint of a French accent. “Leave your things in the car. You can get them later.” 

With that, he turned and went into the stadium, and Andrew followed him in. 

The stairs down to the Nest were dark, and Andrew felt along the wall as he walked down them, keeping his eyes set on the shadowy figure of Jean before him. They finally came into a large red-and-black room, decorated with couches and a large flat-screen TV on one side, and a small kitchen on the other. There were two more hallways branching out from the room, not including the one they’d just come down, that were lined with doors. The place felt a little claustrophobic, but a few personal things were scattered around the room, and a pile of blankets sat on one of the couches, making the place seem a little less like a prison and more like a place for living.

“I assume you know that most Ravens have partners,” Jean said curtly, getting straight to the point, leaning against the back of one of the couches and looking Andrew in the eyes. “You won’t.”

“Good. I do not play well with others,” Andrew replied.

Jean laughed, and it was a harsh, stinging thing. “Neither did any of us, Minyard; not at first. You’ll get used to cooperating. You’ll have to.”

Andrew opened his mouth to reply, but then the littlest Raven—Nathaniel Wesninski, the one who’d come to recruit him, the one he couldn’t find anything about online—emerged from one of the hallways, rubbing his big blue eyes sleepily. His shirt was too big, and it hung off one of his shoulders, revealing dark hickies scattered along his throat and collarbones. He looked at Andrew and blinked once, confused.

“Oh,” said Nathaniel. “Andrew. We weren’t expecting you until ten.”

“It  _ is _ ten, Nate,” Jean said, gentler than Andrew expected.

“Oh,” said Nathaniel again, and then he wandered back into the hall and disappeared behind one of the doors.

Andrew looked at Jean, and resisted the urge to raise a suspicious eyebrow. Jean just shrugged and said, “By the way, we’re getting dinner tonight. Somewhere nice. Wear a tux.”

“I did not bring one,” Andrew replied flatly. “I was expecting to play Exy every day, not go out on the town.”

Jean sighed despairingly. “Nathaniel will probably let you borrow one. You’re about the same size.” He turned and headed for the room that Nathaniel had just went into, knocking lightly on the door. Nathaniel opened it a second later, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

“Jean,” Nathaniel said, smiling softly, without throwing a second glance towards Andrew. The hierarchy was clear: Jean was the only one low enough to deal with Andrew at the moment. “Do you need something?”

“Andrew didn’t bring a tuxedo,” Jean replied. “Can he borrow one of yours for tonight? We can order one for him today, but it won’t be done in time.”

“Sure,” Nathaniel said. “I’ll have to see if any of mine work, though. One second.” He ducked back into the room, then returned wearing another oversized piece of clothing—this time it was a grey Adidas hoodie.

“Andrew,” he called, letting himself into the room across the hall. “Come here, please.” 

Jean went into the kitchen, and Andrew followed Nathaniel into the other room, bracing himself for impact.

It was only a dorm in the name: the room was large and black, with smudges of red on the walls. The queen-sized beds, the dressers, and the desks were black too. The only colors were the clothes spilling from the two full-sized closets on opposite sides of the room and a few red Raven blankets on the beds.

“You really stick to the theme,” Andrew observed, leaning against the wall, noting the knives resting blatantly on one of the desks.

Nathaniel sat on one of the beds and laughed a bit, and the sound was surprisingly light for a place that reeked of darkness and violence. “We’re Ravens,” he said. “It’s all or nothing here.”

“If you are all for school pride, then why haven’t I heard anything about you, Wesninski?”

“Riko is keeping me safe,” Nathaniel said simply, honestly. “There are people who want to hurt me, and keeping me away from the prying eyes of the public ensures that those people can’t find me unless they look very, very hard.”

“What happens when you actually start  _ playing _ for Edgar Allan?” asked Andrew, since Nathaniel was so willing to give up answers. “Everyone has been wondering why Moreau is number 4, not 3, and when they see that you are the newest member of Riko’s Perfect Court, or whatever you all call yourselves, you are going to be everywhere. Riko won’t always be there to protect you.”

“That’s true. But the thing that those people don’t know yet is”—Nathaniel grinned, and everything soft about him fell away, like an angel taking off a mask to reveal the devil underneath—“I am very good at keeping myself safe, too.”

Andrew felt a little glimmer of interest towards this Raven spark in his chest, and he sent a glance towards the knives on the desk. “So the baby bird has a spine.” 

“That’s what I’ve been told,” said Nathaniel, and then the mask slid carefully back into place. He stood and said, “You needed a tux, right?”

Andrew nodded, and he wanted to ask about Nathaniel’s hickies, or about the notably absent Riko Moriyama and Kevin Day, or about why Nathaniel picked him, of all people, for their little club. Instead, he asked, “So how long have you been here?”

“Here, as in the Nest?” Nathaniel replied, digging around in one of the closets. The hoodie came down low on his small body, but when he reached up to grab something, it still revealed quite a bit of the backs of his thighs. “Since I was ten. I’m eighteen now.”

“Do you ever leave? Besides scouting missions, of course.”

Nathaniel snorted. “This isn’t a prison. Of course I do.”

“How do you keep people from spreading the news about you? Surely you’re recognized often, with the tattoo,” Andrew shot back dryly.

“Money is a wonderful thing,” Nathaniel said, pulling out something from the closet. “We try to stick to uncrowded places, Riko pays off anyone who sees me to keep them quiet, and if anyone tries to talk, they regret it. I’m not entirely sure how it works, to be completely honest. Oh, here, try this on.” He handed a tuxedo on a hanger to Andrew, and when Andrew didn’t move, he pointed towards a small door in the corner. “Don’t worry. There’s the bathroom. You don’t have to change in front of me, if that’s not your thing.”

Andrew laughed hollowly, held up the the hanger in acknowledgement, and went into the bathroom. He’d found, over time, that a person’s bathroom reflected more about them than their actual bedroom, and this one was no exception: the counter was clean and uncluttered, and the shower was large. It spoke of subtle, but significant money, which Nathaniel had offhandedly referenced earlier. He changed quickly, and found that although the sleeves of the shirt and jacket were a little too tight around his biceps, and the pants were a bit too long, it fit well enough to work.

He emerged from the bathroom to find Nathaniel sitting on the bed again, picking at his fingernails. He looked up when Andrew came out.

“It fits,” Andrew said, and Nathaniel smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> andrew is so hard to write but I Love Him ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> leave me a comment if you wanna!! much love for all of you <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a while fahdjksaf i'm sorry..... school's over now so we're back in business kiddos!!! this chap is kinda #sad just a heads up :0

Nathaniel, against his better judgement, sort of liked Andrew. He was an apathetic prick, with the kind of personality that ensured he’d fit right in at the Nest; he was an asshole who knew he was an asshole, and continued to act as dickish as possible in order to maintain his already terrible reputation. And because Andrew reminded him of so many people he cared for, Nathaniel kind of liked him.

The particular asshole in question was currently unpacking his stuff in his dorm room down the hall, and Nathaniel was sitting on Jean’s bed, mulling over the way Andrew’s eyes had flashed when Nathaniel had spoken of Riko’s protection. He had seemed… surprised, almost, by Nathaniel’s reaction to his interrogation. Nathaniel could admit he hadn’t meant for Andrew to see him in the Nest for the first time that way—dressed in one of Kevin’s shirts, skin painted with hickeys, looking freshly-fucked and exhausted from a sleepless night—but the damage was done, and besides, Andrew would probably find out soon enough that Nathaniel was sleeping with every member of the Perfect Court on the downlow. 

_ Who knows?  _ Nathaniel thought, leaning back onto the pillows, stretching out his sore legs.  _ Maybe I’ll sleep with him, too _ . Then he remembered Andrew’s unfeeling voice and careful indifference, and snorted at his own idiocy.

“Is something funny?” Jean asked, coming into the room and closing the door behind him.

“Your face,” Nathaniel replied absently, reaching out to tug on Jean’s hand. “What do you think of Minyard?”

Jean stretched out beside him on the bed, obediently intertwining his fingers in Nathaniel’s. “He is the type of person who gets off on not feeling anything, I believe.”

“You’re probably right,” Nathaniel agreed. “He hasn’t met Riko yet, right?”

Jean shook his head. “Nor Kevin.”

“Hmm,” Nathaniel mused. “I think Kevin might really, really hate him. When they meet on the court, I mean.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Minyard doesn’t care about Exy,” said Nathaniel. “He has made it very clear. It doesn’t run in his veins like it does ours. He doesn’t live for it; it doesn’t get him up in the mornings and give him a reason to keep going when things get rough. Kevin isn’t going to like that.”

“You do not like it either,” Jean guessed.

“I don’t,” Nathaniel confirmed. “But he’s good, so I can deal with it. Kevin might not be able to.”

“He has never reacted well to apathy,” said Jean.

“If Andrew annoys Kevin, then he can definitely stay. We need someone new to join our crusade, anyway. How do you feel about him?” Nathaniel looked over at Jean, cocking his head.

“I do not know,” Jean admitted. “He is strange. Like someone reached inside his head and turned off the part with feelings. And a personality.”

“I agree,” said Nathaniel. “There’s something wrong with him.”

“He has a nice car,” Jean said. “A GS, I think. I once heard another Raven call you a slut for fast cars, so there you go.”

“Unfair and untrue, and I might be forced to kill whoever said that,” Nathaniel said, but his heart wasn’t in the threat; he looked distracted, staring into space. And then he sat up. “Oh!”

“What?”

“We should take him to Exites!” Nathaniel hopped out of bed and went to his dresser, digging around his the drawers before huffing out an exasperated breath. “I have  _ nothing to wear _ .”

“ _ We _ ?” Jean asked. “Who is  _ we _ ?”

“You, me, Kevin,” replied Nathaniel, who had pulled on a pair of Adidas joggers (that he had to roll up the cuffs on) and was now looking through Jean’s clothes, shirtless. “I’ll invite Riko, but he’s working on lineups for next season, so he probably won’t come. God, Jean, why are the only things you own black turtlenecks?”

“I am French,” Jean protested. “Why are we going to Exites?”

“Bonding, or something,” Nathaniel said, with a dismissive wave of his hand over his shoulder. “And I need to get out. I haven’t seen the sun in three whole days.”

“Only three?”

“Not everyone can deal with being cooped up all day, like you. I want to breathe some fresh air, please, Jean.” Nathaniel pulled out a lone maroon t-shirt from the bottom drawer and frowned. “Would this—”

“Clash with your hair? Yes; brilliantly,” Jean said.

“Fuck,” Nathaniel replied forlornly, staring down at the fabric in his hands like it had personally offended him. Maybe it had. “Okay, be right back.”

He dropped the shirt back into the drawer and ran into the room across the hall to find a sleeping Kevin tucked into bed and wrapped in blankets like an oversized sushi roll. Nathaniel smiled at how soft Kevin could look in sleep, and promptly shook him awake.

“Whaddya want?” Kevin mumbled, loosely grabbing Nathaniel’s hand and cradling it to his chest like a child would clutch a stuffed animal in the night.

“We’re going to Exites, so get up and get dressed,” Nathaniel said, and when Kevin just groaned and turned over, Nathaniel frowned a bit, adding, “Please, Kev?”

Kevin brushed his lips against Nathaniel’s wrist and sighed. “Gimme ten minutes.”

“Seven, or we’re leaving without you, green bean,” replied Nathaniel sweetly, pressing a gentle kiss to Kevin’s forehead before pulling out of his grip, heading to his closet, and stealing his favorite black Anti-Social Social Club hoodie from a hanger. Kevin was constantly being sponsored by annoyingly cool street brands, which Nathaniel thought was extremely stupid, because Kevin was the biggest nerd Nathaniel knew. Still, it meant that Nathaniel had access to any of the brands at any time, so that was helpful. Maybe he could convince Riko to let him be sponsored, after he was unveiled to the public as Riko’s third.

Pulling on the hoodie and letting it drape over his hands, Nathaniel ventured down one room to knock gently on Riko’s door, and when Riko called that it was open, Nathaniel let himself in.

“Hey, Ri,” Nathaniel said, leaning against the doorframe. “The new recruit’s here, and we’re taking him to Exites. I know you’re busy, but…”

Riko faced him, frowning a bit. “I’m sorry, baby, but I can’t come. I’ll be there for dinner tonight, though. And make sure the employees remember our agreement about keeping you a secret, okay?”

“Okay,” Nathaniel said, and even though he had known Riko probably wouldn’t be able to go with them, it still stung a bit. This was just a small outing, but in his years at the Nest, he had never acquired a taste for rejection. “I will. We’ll be back soon.”

He disappeared from the doorway, picking at the quick of his fingernails, heading back to his and Jean’s room. He was so fucking sick of hiding from the public and paying people to pretend he didn’t exist. He couldn’t wait for the season to start. He couldn’t wait to finally be able to show off his tattoo, his teammates, his  _ boys _ . He couldn’t wait for the world to know that Nathaniel Wesninski was part of something, that he meant something, that he was valued more than the fucking Butcher of Baltimore. He wasn’t going to let his father’s bloody fame affect his success, and someday soon, he was going to stare Nathan in the face and tell him so.

All of a sudden, Nathaniel was angry, and unfortunately, he ran into Andrew in the hall, pulse racing hot with rage.

“Hello, Brit,” Andrew said, referencing Nathaniel’s accent. 

Nathaniel rolled his eyes at the nickname, bit back his previously-swelling fury a little. “We’re going to Exites. Be ready in five minutes. It’s mandatory.”

Andrew’s jaw tightened a miniscule amount, and Nathaniel felt extremely gratified that he’d made the apathetic asshole react to something. 

“Who says?” drawled Andrew.

“Me,” Nathaniel replied, just as lazily and just as arrogantly as the midget in front of him. He pointed to the three on his cheekbone. “You’ll have to learn to obey your superiors,  _ Doe.  _ You might be good, but you’re not Perfect Court good. Not yet. So learn your place, before I am forced to teach you.”

Andrew’s eyes went dark at the use of his former last name. “My  _ place, _ birdie?”

“Yes, midget,” said Nathaniel. “Now go get ready. I will not tell you again.”

“Nate?” Kevin called, stepping out of his room. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, tree,” Nathaniel replied. “Our newest recruit has a bit of a superiority complex, that’s all. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Andrew looked torn between amusement and displeasure, and Kevin eyed him, saying, “Is that so?”

“It’s fine, Kevin. Really. No need to stick your nose into this.”

“I cannot tell if that was supposed to be an insult or a compliment,” Jean quipped, walking up to the group.

“A bit of both,  _ mon chérie,”  _ Nathaniel said, smiling.

“As per usual with you,” Jean replied, and Nathaniel punched him lightly on the arm, with a little laugh. Just like that, his anger dissipated, vanished into the void with the help of Kevin’s gentle protectiveness and Jean’s soft teasing.

Andrew just stared at them, calculating, clearly caught off guard by their dynamic. Nathaniel was glad Andrew was on his toes. It gave them—the Perfect Court—the upper hand, and that’s how Nathaniel liked it. 

“Help me come up with other things to call Kevin,” Nathaniel said, pulling Jean off down the hall. “I’ve already used green bean and tree. What are some other weird, long things?”

“I heard that, asshole!” Kevin yelled at him.

“I wanted you to, human buffet table!” Nathaniel yelled back, and Jean snorted. 

“Buffet table is kind of literal, if one thinks about it,” Jean mused, after they were out of Kevin and Andrew’s earshot. “Because you two—”

“I really don’t think you want to finish that sentence, Moreau,” Nathaniel said pleasantly, walking into their room and closing the door behind him.

“But I do, Wesninski,” Jean replied, just as polite.

Nathaniel shoved him a little, teasing, and then Jean pushed back, and their banter dissolved into a play fight against the wall. A few moments later, they calmed down, and Nathaniel leaned into him, curling his fingers into Jean’s shirt. 

“I’m so sick of hiding,” he said, and the anger was coming back again. 

“Hiding?”

“Of paying people to stay quiet,” Nathaniel clarified. “I want to be able to go places and show off my tattoo, not hide it. I want Riko to stop having to tell me not to go out because I’ll be seen. I’ve been hiding in the Nest for eight goddamn years and I’m so fucking tired of it.” 

“You have made it eight years,  _ mon flammèche _ ,” Jean said. “You only have a month left.”

“Yeah,” replied Nathaniel. “You’re right. But I’m still tired.”

“I understand,” Jean said, pulling Nathaniel closer to wrap his arms around him. “It cannot have been easy. But it is to keep you safe, Nate. You know your father’s people, and you know what they can do. Yes, you were given to Tetsuji to settle a debt, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t people looking to hurt you. Especially since your father is currently in jail and his little employees are most likely running wild, looking for revenge against those who do not deserve it. Like you.”

“But I’m a Wesninski,” Nathaniel said, voice hollow. “I don’t run and I definitely don’t hide.”

“You should when it is in your best interest,” said Jean. “And you need to be alive for the season. You’ve made it this far, Nate; do not risk it now.”

“I… I think Riko just wants to keep me a secret because he wants me to be a dramatic unveiling,” Nathaniel confessed, and it was something he’d been turning over his head for a long time. It felt so good to say it. “Like, ‘Oh, here, this is the boy you’ve all been looking and waiting for. My third-in-command. See, the Perfect Court is complete now.’ I’m not sure if he went through all this—making deals and exchanging money to keep people quiet about me, keeping me here in the Nest most of the time—just for my sake. I care about Riko, but he looks after himself and his image above anything else, and you and I both know that.”

Jean’s voice was carefully devoid of emotion. “You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I know Riko cares very much about you, Nate. But you are my partner and I do not lie to you.” Jean rested his head on top of Nathaniel’s. “Riko is very obsessed with the  _ thought _ of the Perfect Court, but not the Perfect Court in actuality. He is taken with its image and how it will portray him to his father and brother.”

“So you think he did all this for himself?”

“Maybe. It is possible. As you have said before, his daddy issues are endless and intricate.”

“It must be my fault.” Nathaniel looked down, wincing at Jean’s recall of the things he’d said of Riko in anger in the past. “I haven’t been there for him enough and he feels insecure or something because of it.”

“No, Nate,” Jean said, wishing he had words for how much Nathaniel meant to him. To all of them, but to Jean especially. “No. It is not your fault. You have done all you can, but you cannot make Lord Moriyama and Ichirou love him.”

“I can try,” Nathaniel said, and the earnestness in his voice broke Jean’s heart. “I can always try.”

Just as Jean was opening his mouth to reply, someone banged on the door. Nathaniel rubbed hard at his reddened eyes as Jean reached over to open it, revealing Kevin standing there twirling a set of keys on his finger.

“Seven minutes, remember?” Kevin said.

“Well, this is a first,” Nathaniel said brightly, and something in Jean ached at the sight of Nathaniel fitting his carefree mask back on for Kevin. “You’re not late.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Kevin replied, and Nathaniel sent him a wide, wicked grin, sitting on Jean’s bed to pull on his Nikes.

“Where’s Minyard?” asked Nathaniel, fumbling with the laces. “Fuck. Jean—”

As Jean bent over to tie Nathaniel’s shoes (their usual routine; Nathaniel had never learned to tie them, and he refused to be taught, because he was Nathaniel), the goalkeeper in question appeared in the doorway, dressed in fresh clothes, looking bored.

“There’s our resident blondie!” Nathaniel’s grin turned sharp and glinting.

“Talking about me?” Andrew drawled everything. Jean didn’t like it.

“Do you see any other blonds in this fine establishment?” Nathaniel shot back just as fast. The antagonism rose in his eyes and Jean had to hold back a smile.

“They hid you effectively enough, so I am not exactly sure who else is tucked between the floorboards here,” Andrew said. “Maybe I will find another tiny child with an attitude problem stuck in a locker, or a broom closet. Like a last resort in case a game is going badly.”

Jean watched something crack in Nathaniel and moved back as Nathaniel stood up. Kevin and Jean both moved to go for Andrew, but Nathaniel motioned for them to stay still.

“Minyard,” he said quietly, dangerously, stepping close to Andrew. “You can act as apathetic and prickish as you want. I don’t give a damn. But you will not insult me or mine, okay? I might have an attitude problem, but I know my place, and I have earned it, and I know that it is far, far above yours. So step the fuck back and reconsider that wayward tongue of yours before I cut it out for you, do you understand?”

Andrew just looked at him, unblinking.

Nathaniel shoved him against the wall. “I said,  _ do you understand?” _

“You are a testy little bird,” Andrew said, eyes slitted. Jean saw his wrist flick, and then there was a knife pressed to Nathaniel’s stomach. It set his heart racing for Nathaniel, but he knew that Nathaniel could handle it.

“Shut the fuck up, you stupid, impertinent child,” Nathaniel hissed, ignoring the blade completely. “You are a Raven now. I would advise you to get used to the hierarchy before Riko comes along and sees your insubordination. He’s cut up players for less, and if he sees that you’ve been mouthing off to  _ me?  _ You will wish that you had never been born. So get your fucking act together, Minyard; we do not tolerate insolence in the Nest, and you need to learn that as quickly as your tiny brain will allow. And do not ever, ever pull a knife on me again, because I doubt very much that you know how to use them as well as I do,  _ number five.” _

He shoved Andrew against the wall again and left, leaving the room silent in shock behind him. Kevin sent a glare in Andrew’s direction, and followed Nathaniel out, but Jean remained standing in his room, staring at Andrew in cold anger.

“He is not lying,” Jean said, and Andrew met his eyes across the room. “He is very good with knives.” And then he left, too, knowing that Andrew would be close behind, because he had seen the careful curiosity in his eyes when Nathaniel had snapped. Jean recognized it, because he had looked the same way the first time he’d watched Nathaniel’s darker side come out.

Jean met up with Kevin and Nathaniel in the garage, and they climbed into the Bugatti and waited for Andrew to show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't mess with nate he will smack a bitch DOWN :) also andrew is an utter dick and i apologize on behalf of my son  
> leave me a comment if u feel so led (aka pls validate me i need it this shit is hard u guys) thank u sm for reading i love u all !!!!  
> 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow im literally the worst this took So Long im so sorry....... i have no excuse except for the fact that for the past 4 months ive barely had time to breathe, let alone work on this fic. im super sorry and i promise to try and update more often!!!!  
> ALSO: i totally forgot about the whole deal in canon w andrew having a GS before neil came along and lowkey became his sugar daddy, so i edited the fic so that he's still driving the GS around. sorry about that im a fucking dumbass

Andrew’s first excursion out with  _ the boys _ , as Nathaniel had affectionately referred to them more than once, was turning into maybe the most bizarre experience of his life. 

Kevin Day— _ the  _ Kevin Day, Riko Moriyama’s second in command, one of the best strikers in Class I Exy—was a complete and utter dick, Andrew was learning quickly. And since  _ Andrew,  _ who practically made a living dealing out snide remarks and unfeeling threats, thought  _ Kevin _ was an asshole, that was pretty bad. Also, while he was on the topic—the French kid was weird, too. Tall and slim and pale, dressed in all black, he looked more like a hint of a person than a real one, and since he followed Nathaniel around everywhere, it gave him even more of a shade-boy look. Andrew managed to resist the urge to make a joke about Peter Pan and his unhinged shadow—he didn’t need to reveal his dazzling sense of humor just yet.

Nathaniel was definitely the strangest, though. His mood changed like the violent, ever-shifting flicker of a flame, and Andrew wasn’t yet sure how to keep up with his abrupt personality changes. He was soft and pliant one second, handing Andrew a tuxedo and smiling gently while yielding truths in his own bedroom, and the next, he was standing unflinchingly against the knife— _ Andrew’s  _ knife—pressed to his gut, running his mouth like it was his day job. And maybe it was, because apparently, Kevin and Nathaniel were  _ always fucking arguing. _ On the drive to the stupid Exy store, Jean, sitting beside Andrew in the backseat, didn’t even seem to notice their fifteen minute argument about the health concerns of putting dressing on salads, which told Andrew that this must be a regular thing for them.

Kevin pulled into the parking lot of Exites and killed the engine, then looked at Nathaniel seriously. “We can get you some avocado vinaigrette on the way home, but that’s it. You’re an athlete, Nate, and you need an athlete’s diet, too.”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. “Fine. But I’m telling Riko you ate his last cool mint Clif Bar.”

“Don’t you dare,” Kevin hissed, but Nathaniel just smirked and climbed out of the passenger seat, slamming the door shut behind him and heading into the store. Jean snorted and followed him in, and Andrew and Kevin were left in the car.

“Are you two always like this?” Andrew asked, voice lazy.

“It’s Nathaniel’s fault,” Kevin said darkly, sounding like a snubbed child. “He never listens to my advice on eating well.”

“Shoot me if I’m wrong,” Andrew began, ever the antagonist, “but he looks about twenty pounds underweight. I am not sure if salad dressing is going to hurt, but you are the world-class athlete, not me, so feel free to ignore everything I’m saying.”

Kevin huffed out a breath and got out of the car, and Andrew laughed a bit to himself before climbing out, too, because what the fuck was he doing here? But he adjusted his armbands and trailed Kevin into the store, anyway.

 

\----

 

Nathaniel had always loved their local Exites, partly because it smelled like Exy, and partly because no one ever bothered him there: the workers had long since stopped trying to ask him questions about himself and the Perfect Court, which made the place a sort of haven for him. Plus, Jean always tolerated his habit of buying a different piece of Ravens merchandise every time they went, so Nathaniel’s closet was packed with Exites-brand jerseys labeled MORIYAMA #1, DAY #2, and MOREAU #4, and his desk was cluttered with different Ravens mugs and pens and even a pair of candles (with Riko’s and Kevin’s numbers on them—the public was weirdly obsessed with the duo, and Nathaniel really couldn’t blame them, because they were hot as hell apart and hot as  _ fuck  _ together). Once Nathaniel had come home with a black MORIYAMA #1 crop top, and Riko hadn’t been able to keep his hands off him for a solid three hours. That was a good day.

Today, he found himself on the second floor of the store, inspecting their collection of practice jerseys. Jean was off browsing through technique books, because he was Jean and he always had a dusty antique-store novel or a shiny new Exy-centered paperback sitting on his nightstand. Sometimes, when it was late and Jean’s easy affection towards Nathaniel made him more malleable than usual, Nathaniel was able to persuade him into reading French poetry out loud, his head resting on Jean’s chest, the only light in their room coming from the moon. Those were good nights, too.

Evermore was  _ good _ for Nathaniel, and he knew it, and the rest of the Perfect Court knew it, too. His father was far, far away, practically under house arrest in Baltimore, and Nathaniel was here in West Virginia, playing Exy and driving fast cars and trusting more people than he’d practically even  _ known  _ growing up. While yes, Tetsuji was still an abusive asshole, and yes, his cane had come down on Nathaniel’s back more times than he could remember, at least in the Nest, Nathaniel had people to pick him up off the ground afterwards. 

Footsteps came from behind Nathaniel, and he yanked himself out of his thoughts, spinning around to find Andrew leaning against the shelves.

“Hey, Raven boy. What’s with the accent?” asked Andrew, without preamble.

Nathaniel grinned and shook his head. “I already gave you answers for free, asshole,” he replied cheerfully. “If you want more, you’ll have to pay for them.”

“Fine,” Andrew said. “Truth for a truth. Ask away, little bird.”

“Your brother,” said Nathaniel, watching the way Andrew’s jaw tightened. “The dead Andrew look-alike. Were you close? Don’t lie; I won’t like it if you do.”

“He died a year after I met him,” said Andrew, bored.

“Not an answer, blondie,” Nathaniel replied, sing-song.

“We were—something. I was all he had left,” Andrew said finally. “‘I tried to save him, but he wasn’t willing to be saved,’ and all that bullshit.”

Nathaniel nodded. “Thank you for your honesty,” he said, but not as mockingly as he meant to.

Andrew quirked up a brow. “Your turn to sing, birdie.”

“Spent some time with family overseas,” Nathaniel said. “Kevin and Riko thought the accent was hot, so I kept it. Also, it makes my father mad, which is always a plus.”

“Your father?” Andrew decided to ask about Kevin and Riko later.

“Nope, my turn. How’d you get that GS? Your mother’s solidly middle class, yes?”

“Adoptive mother,” Andrew corrected. “After my birth mother died, I was the last Minyard left, so I got her life insurance money and blew it as fast as I could. Best thing she ever did for me.”

“That’s sexy,” Nathaniel remarked. “My father’s a serial killer for the Japanese mafia.”

Andrew blinked in surprise, and regretted it immediately when he saw Nathaniel’s mouth twitch into a smile at his reaction. “Oh?” he said, voice carefully uninterested.

Nathaniel sighed, as if Andrew had disappointed him. “See, you’re a California kid. If you lived on the East Coast, you’d know him—the Butcher of Baltimore. He taught me everything I know about knives and stitching up your own wounds and disposing of bodies. You know, useful stuff. He’s a dick, though, which fucking sucks, because I hate being a stereotype. Daddy issues are overrated.”

Suddenly, Andrew was both more and less understanding of why Nathaniel was the way he was. “So how did the Butcher’s son end up playing Exy for the best Class I team in the country?”

Nathaniel wagged a finger in front of Andrew’s face. “Not yet, eager beaver. You don’t get to unlock my tragic backstory all at once. I’ll save my turn for later. And if you aren’t going to buy something, let’s go.”

He walked away, and Andrew was left staring at the row of jerseys, contemplating the conversation that had somehow just blown by him. Nathaniel was  _ interesting, _ and Andrew hated it, but he dug his fingernails into his palms and followed after him anyway.

“Hey, Jean,” Nathaniel called, because the store was blissfully empty and he could yell here. “What should I get this time?”

“You’re an idiot,” Jean shouted back. “Get a bandana again. Yours is fraying, I think.”

Andrew tilted his head, a silent question. 

Nathaniel laughed. “When we come here, I always get some Ravens merchandise. Gotta sponsor the team, you know? Oh, and they sell crop tops, if you’re into that.”

Andrew, against his will, snorted, and Nathaniel’s eyes flashed before he spun on his heel and headed downstairs.

“Kevin,” he yelled, skipping the last three steps in favor of jumping down them. “Kevin, you overgrown asshole, if you’re in the heavy racquet section again, I’m going to kill you!”

“Shut up!” came a voice from what definitely looked like the heavy racquet section. “You need one, Nate!”

“Suck my dick!” Nathaniel replied, sticking a choice finger in Kevin’s general direction. “Heavies are for people who can’t run. Does that sound familiar to you, Mr. Six-Minute-Mile?”

Kevin emerged from one of the isles, brandishing a large, dense-looking stick of wood. “At least I don’t bench like an anemic stork!”

“At least I don’t skip leg day every chance I get!”

“At least I don’t look like a fucking seven-year-old midget!”

“At least I don’t—”

Jean emerged at the top of the stairs, looking a bit like Andrew’s savior. “Jesus  _ Christ,  _ do you two ever shut your fucking mouths?” he groaned loudly. “Kevin, he doesn’t want the heavy, so shut up. Nate, Riko’s going to  _ want _ you to upgrade to a heavy soon, so prepare for that. Now buy your bandana so we can go get some fucking lunch.”

Kevin rolled his eyes and shoved the racquet back into the shelves, while Nathaniel jogged over to the Ravens section to pull out a black bandana with a red Ravens emblem on the front. He waved it at the shockingly-unstunned cashier (did they do this often?), who nodded and wrote something down. Nathaniel pulled Jean out the door, complaining loudly in what sounded like Mandarin, and Andrew ran a hand through his hair before following them out. Kevin was right behind him, looking frustrated.

“So you steal things, too?” Andrew asked Nathaniel, once he was settled in the passenger’s seat. Kevin started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, and Nathaniel leaned against Jean in the back, fiddling with the price tag on the bandana.

“Yes,” Nathaniel said, not looking up. “Forgot to tell you. I’m a klepto as well as a—”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Nathaniel,” Kevin interrupted. “And no, he didn’t steal the bandana, Minyard. We have credit there.”

“Of course you do,” Andrew deadpanned. “Is it the serial killer thing? Or the mafia thing?”

Jean choked. “What the fuck—”

“It’s the best college Exy team in the country thing,” Kevin said, recovering quickly from the shock of realizing how much Nathaniel had told Andrew. “People adore us. Get used to it.”

“No, thanks,” said Andrew. “I’d rather be feared than loved. Eminem said that.”

Jean almost laughed, and Andrew counted it as a win, but Nathaniel just grinned, and it was a terrible look; his lips were stretched wide over his teeth but his eyes were hollow and empty. “Why be one when you could be both?”

Ignoring that awful smile, Andrew rolled his eyes, the picture of boredom. “Ever heard of this thing called a joke, Wesninski? I guess you wouldn’t have, considering you grew up in a pit.”

“Ever heard of this thing called a good sense of humor? I guess you wouldn’t have, considering your own brother literally overdosed to get away from you,” Nathaniel threw back, and Andrew didn’t know what to say to  _ that, _ so he just opened the door of the car and climbed out. Thankfully, they were stopped at a red light, or Andrew probably would have smacked his face on the concrete. That would have been embarrassing. 

Kevin rolled down the window, looking annoyed but not at all surprised by Andrew’s stunt. “Get back in the car. You’re not going to make it very long with us if you can’t handle Nate’s tongue.”

“Hmm,” Andrew said, tapping a finger against his chin and pretending to think it over. “No.”

The backseat window rolled down to reveal Nathaniel’s arrogant, smiling face. “Sorry I hurt your feelings, Minyard. Pretty please get back in?”

“I don’t like that word,” Andrew replied. The light turned green, but there was no one on the road with them, so the car didn’t move. 

“What, pretty? Or please?” Nathaniel bit his lip, the picture of demure submission.

Jean sighed. He did that a lot, Andrew had noticed. He seemed to be the most sane of the group: Kevin had a one-track Exy mind, Nathaniel was a moody loudmouth with an attitude problem, but Jean was just kind of—there. Keeping the peace, and whatnot.

“Please,” Andrew replied, and it sent a bit of a shiver down his spine. “Don’t use it.”

“Oh,” Nathaniel said. A glimmer of recognition shone in his eyes, and in that moment, Andrew genuinely hated him. “So you’re a broken thing, too. You’ll fit right in here, then.”

And because he didn’t have a choice, really, Andrew got back in the car, and they resumed driving.

“If we’re going to your weird salad place, Kevin,” Nathaniel began, fidgeting with the hem of Jean’s hoodie (was he ever still?), “I am going to murder you and cut your body up into little bits to feed to my pet snake.”

“You don’t have a snake,” Kevin pointed out, unfazed.

Nathaniel smirked, catching Kevin’s eye in the rearview mirror; Andrew didn’t miss the soft smile on Kevin’s face. “Are you sure about that?” said Nathaniel.

“If you had to have an pet,” Jean asked, “what would you get? I think I would have a nice green parakeet. Or maybe a hedgehog.”

“Nathaniel kind of looks like a hedgehog,” Kevin mused aloud.

“And you kind of look like roadkill,” replied Nathaniel cheerfully.

“Are pet sharks things that exist?” Jean tapped a finger against his chin, clearly still stuck on the topic. “That would be interesting.”

Kevin said, “I heard sharks feel like sandpaper.”

“You’ve never even seen sandpaper,” said Nathaniel.

“Fair,” Kevin admitted.

“You guys are fucking weird,” Andrew said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “I think I’d get a sloth, though. The three-toed kind. Got a light?”

Kevin rolled his eyes as Nathaniel leaned into the front seat to pop the glove box open and pull out a silver lighter. He flicked it on and Andrew leaned forward to catch the flame with the end of his cigarette; when Andrew let out a puff of smoke, Nathaniel made grabby hands towards Andrew’s Lucky Strikes.

“These aren’t for you,” said Andrew. “You look twelve.”

“And what about it?” Nathaniel replied, just to be difficult, and he stole the pack with quick, clever fingers, lighting up before Andrew even realized he’d just been blatantly robbed. He dropped the pack into Andrew’s lap and sat back in his seat, looking out the window and inhaling the smoke like an addict.

“Too soft to actually smoke it?” Andrew asked.

Nathaniel didn’t answer, just stared into space, and Kevin and Jean looked bored by the conversation, so Andrew let it drop, making a mental note to ask Nathaniel again when he was in a more giving mood.

“Cheese Louise?” Kevin directed his question towards Jean, like he knew Nathaniel would be zoned out for a while.

“Sure,” Jean said. “If you don’t bully us about getting chips instead of salads again.”

“Cheese Louise?” Andrew didn’t know if that was a restaurant or code for  _ let’s murder our new recruit under the nearest bridge because we’re a bunch of literal crazy people.  _

“Grilled cheese place,” clarified Jean. “Nate likes it.”

“Why don’t you call him by his actual name?” Andrew asked. “Day does.”

Jean looked minutely uncomfortable. “I just—choose not to, I suppose.”

“It’s because I hate my name,” Nathaniel said, quiet. “There’s a truth on credit for you. An apology for bringing up your brother.”

Andrew blew a cloud of smoke out the window. “Apology not accepted. Why don’t you like your name? Have a little case of self-hatred?”

Jean hissed, “Hold your tongue, Minyard.”

“Too close to the Butcher’s name, number five. Nathan, Nathaniel—same person, different bodies. He held me down with a hot iron once,” Nathaniel added conversationally. “But if you want to see the scar, it’ll cost you.”

And then Kevin pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant and the conversation was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking w me, u guys!!! leave some kudos/comments if u wanna, they're lowkey my lifeblood :) & hmu on tumblr @ jeaneils if ur feeling it!!! lots of love to all of u  
> p.s. cheese louise is a great grilled cheese place in WV i ate there when i was on vacation fhdsjfsdh  
> p.p.s. once my teammate ate my last cool mint clif bar and i swear to god i almost murdered him right there. it struck me as a kevin thing to do so there u go


End file.
